


divine retribution

by wetbreadstick



Series: divine intervention [2]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Guardian Angel AU, M/M, divineverse, sequel/continuation, side iwaoi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-20
Updated: 2016-01-20
Packaged: 2018-05-15 03:18:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,395
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5769292
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wetbreadstick/pseuds/wetbreadstick
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Yamaguchi Tadashi wakes up in his next life, he wakes up alone, and there's a star missing in the sky.</p>
            </blockquote>





	divine retribution

**Author's Note:**

> welcome back my friends
> 
> this fic is a continuation of divine intervention. several people expressed frustration with the ending (haha) so this is the post-di True Ending, if you will. this will definitely be a shorter story than di itself
> 
> in order to understand this story, you should read divine intervention first! otherwise none of it will make sense
> 
> please enjoy

_[ PROLOGUE - THE THIRD DAY ]_

 

It begins the same way it ends.

Yamaguchi tumbles to Earth in a flurry of stardust and sound, heart still thrumming a galaxy-pulse as he falls. It’s only when he hits the ground with a _thump_ does it stop-- a moment passes, two moments, before it restarts, clock-steady. The heartbeat is human once more, fueled by his ragged first breath.

The grass is dewy under him, smearing raw against the freckles still prickling into existence along his skin. The world hushes as every atom in his body hums together before stopping, exhaling something stable, pulling mountain wind close around his core.

He breathes out again, and it clicks.

The sky above is intimately familiar, the lip of a roof visible and wobbling at the corners of his vision. Slowly, he sits up, and the world swims into focus.

He knows this place. He’s been here before. The roof above casts a shadow, and he turns his gaze to where the grass is crushed under his body. Unease curls in his stomach at the sight, and he lifts a hand, brushing hair away from his forehead. Creation rubs his mind blurred, still, and he shakes his head to clear it.

When he does, the _memories_ start to trickle back into his veins. First, he remembers drowning, then remembers impact and lightning and fire and the _fall_ and he has _been_ here before, in this life, in this very moment. It’s the same world. It’s the same life as before.

Unsteady, he looks up at the sky, feeling much like an old VCR-- rewound, worn, too familiar with the wrongness curled tight inside him. His vision flickers, and he blinks; when his eyes open once more, the world changes again, and motes of sparkling dust fill the air.

They leave trails, slow and purposeful, tracing upwards to a new rift in the sky (Yamaguchi knows that, too, remembers seeing it with his own eyes) -- each one tethered at the end to a pinprick of light. _Angels,_ Yamaguchi remembers dimly, white-peppermint _cosmos_ twirling lazily past his eyes. Each one vibrates with its own gentle melody, fading and brightening with the patterns of the far-off stars.

This is familiar too, somehow. The tingling static of the energy against his skin is an embrace he knows all too well-- something else hedges deep in his mind, unsteady, a crumbling dam. Yamaguchi shakes his head again and stands, slow, careful, tasting wine on his tongue when he passes through a rich, dark tendril of _cosmos_.

“Tsukishima.” he blurts, sudden, unbidden. There’s an empty space by his side. The world holds its breath again as panic suddenly spikes hard in Yamaguchi’s chest-- “Tsukishima,” Again, bordering on desperate, eyes searching the air for a glimmer of gold.

The Universe doesn’t answer. Yamaguchi swallows hard, reaching up to curl fingers into the front of his shirt. Dizzy, he casts a glance up at the lip of the roof once more-- _I fell from there,_ he recalls, bleary, and his stomach pitches with the memory.

The starlight washes out the silent grass around him, pale and serene even with the countless planets roaring distant just above. It’s all surreal-- aside from the humming _cosmos_ all around, the only thing he can hear is his own heart, harsh and new, re-formed by the summer wind and sprinklings of galaxies scattered over his skin. _I’m dead,_ he thinks, shivering in the cool night air, _I must be dead._

That would be an explanation for the eerie quiet of the night around him, the absence of any living being-- the absence of _Tsukishima._ (Something budges deep in his mind again, aching under some great pressure, stubborn.) It’s wrong. It’s all wrong, this time. He shouldn’t be here. This life _ended._

The memory of Fate’s hands on his face makes him shudder again, and without thinking, he begins to walk forward. The grass whispers under his feet. Trails of _cosmos_ crisscross in front of him, behind him, stretching in all colors and patterns, dissipating where he breaks through before re-forming back into something recognizable. The scenery is familiar, but even so, Yamaguchi’s not sure where he’s going. Dazed, he watches the energies around him curl and twist, stretching taut and loosening. It’s like some bizarre dream, feet moving without him even thinking about it.

Yamaguchi finds his way to the door of the apartment building-- _his_ apartment building, he remembers, passing by the empty security desk and to the elevator just beyond. It’s dark inside-- the _cosmos_ in the remains outside, as if unwilling to trespass. The doors open as soon as he comes close, and he steps inside without thinking. There’s no sound save for the clicking of the cables, then a quiet _ding_ when it comes to a halt at the topmost floor.

The doors open, and he steps out onto the roof.

Immediately, he’s overcome with an overwhelming sense of vertigo, and he doubles over with a gasp. Eyes watering, he braces his palms against his knees, struggling to get a grip-- there’s fear thick in his throat, suddenly, every instinct telling him to turn around and go back down, down, where there’s no chance of falling.

He almost does-- he almost turns tail and bolts back the way he came, a hand coming to clutch at his roiling stomach, but a murmur of energy in the air catches his attention. Swallowing the nausea, he looks up, eyes glazed over with a thin film of tears.

There’s a sudden sense of weightlessness that barrels into him, then, as the air fills with a rich brown _cosmos._ He knows it well. It makes him afraid. The ground wavers under his feet, reality rippling in unsteady patterns, hair floating with the thick air-- he blinks, and a figure glimmers into sight just ahead of him.

Yamaguchi tenses, muscles locking tight with apprehension, and the person turns to look at him.

The archangel’s cosmos blasts all the other trails out of the air, and Yamaguchi can see the smile on his face as he takes a step towards him. Then another. Then another. This scene is familiar, too, fear hot and molten in his stomach with the threat of death approaching fast.

“Yamaguchi,” It greets him cheerfully, coming to a halt several feet away. Yamaguchi meets its eyes, albeit fearfully, brow creasing as he scans its human features. “It’s good to see you again.”

There’s a silence as Yamaguchi gathers himself, cautious, throat dry and burning with the atmosphere drawing close around them. The smell of ozone floods his senses, suddenly, and it makes his eyes well up again.

“Oikawa,” he says, and the archangel lights up with recognition. His own voice sounds far away, as if in a dream, as if something large and frightful was speaking in his stead. “Are you… going to kill me?”

Yamaguchi feels the memory of the grass under his skin when Oikawa laughs.

“No.” Oikawa answers, rolling his shoulders in a shrug. “Not this time around, I guess.”

Yamaguchi watches him, waiting for a continuation-- waiting for an explanation, for further detail on the unclear implication in his statement. The archangel blinks back at him, smile beatific, unassuming.

“Not this time?” he repeats, weak, and the archangel laughs. It rings silvery bells and makes the air tremble. He remembers it.

“No.” Oikawa intones, again, all cheer. “You’re a guest of honor, this time.”

Another silence. No explanation.

“I don’t understand.” Yamaguchi says, helplessness creeping into his tone. That, too, is familiar, and it’s frustrating. There are pieces of the Universe on his skin. Weakness should not be something well known to him.

“You will.” The archangel hums, shoving his hands into his pockets. For a moment, he casts his gaze off to the side, before turning it back to Yamaguchi. When he does, it’s full of something knowing, something frightening and other. “This is your second chance, Yamaguchi.”

Yamaguchi barely has time to register-- there’s a blinding flash above his head, high above in the sky, and his eyes are immediately drawn to it. Up, miles into Heaven, a star spits out its last dying embers, and falls.

“We’ll do better this time.” He hears Oikawa say, before the dizziness hits-- gold streaks from the skies in fireworks, world growing fuzzy and distant, before he’s falling, falling, too.

**Author's Note:**

> tumblr @ wetbreadstick
> 
> thanks for reading!


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